Sleepy
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: He could handle the Grimm showing up on his doorstep at the worst times, but Monroe just didn't think a visit at three in the morning could ever be justifiable. He was wrong.
1. Prologue

**Sleepy**

Monroe nearly, he felt the growl, an abnormal one, growing in the back of his throat, fanged out when he heard the first knock on his door. He swallowed the irritation and his growing anger, snapping his eyes to the digital on his nightstand. It read two forty-eight, in the morning. His anger grew again, swelling into a crescendo of growling that went on as he stomped downstairs, barefoot, shivering from the nip of the cold floor against his feet. He cursed his pajamas- navy tee, black boxers- not for the first time, and vowed to find something warmer to wear before he wrenched the front door open. He was about to explode, to let loose his anger on the black-haired detective that was standing there on his doorstep, but it all suddenly vanished at one look at Nick's face.

"... Hey Monroe."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Welcome to my preface. Yes, I know it's short, and I did that on purpose for a tease. -Smile- This will be canon, and will probably be a two to three shot.<strong>


	2. The Reason

**Chapter One**

There were a lot of things that Monroe could have said, over the many months that he'd been working with the Grimm, that would have caused Nick to immediately turn right around, walk himself out of the _Blutbad's_ front door, and never return. There were so many biting remarks, so many complaints, so many degradations that passed through Monroe's head that he could have elicited, and he would have never seen the Grimm again. But, the problem with it was, everytime that Monroe thought one of those thoughts, guilt chewed away at him and he, instead, came up with some witty remark that would, hopefully, express his distaste of the circumstances that would not really hurt Nick's self-esteem. As much as he thought, or jokingly complained, that he hated what Nick made him do, he didn't mind the Grimm so much. It gave him something to do on a Friday night that didn't involve sitting alone at a bar or poking away at a clock's intricate puzzle.

His mind was racing now, searching for the face-saving behaviour that he had come to use whenever the Grimm showed up nowdays. It _was_ nearly three in the morning, so he could have made a comment about that. But, looking at the dark rings under the Grimm's eyes, the way his shoulders were slumped, the pallor of his skin that looked like he was about to be sick... Monroe realized the exhaustion wasn't one-sided and, therefore, his complaint would be invalid. He'd been asleep, yes!- but that inevitably rolled back into the time and Monroe reckoned that Nick wanted to be asleep right now, too. It was cold, standing there in the doorway in nothing but pajamas, but even then, Monroe couldn't bring himself to chew the Grimm out because... the look on his face stated a multitude of things that Monroe knew went deeper than a typical homicide.

So, no, he couldn't think of anything that would come out of his mouth that would be alright, nothing that wouldn't hurt the already hurt Grimm. Uncharacteristically, the words that came out of his mouth were serious and curious, but also gently demanding an explanation.

"What happened?"

He watched Nick slump even further into himself, watched the cloud of condensation form as Nick sighed heavily. The detective blinked, not reopening his eyes immediately. He raised a hand, presumably going for the support of the doorframe when he instead swayed. Monroe caught him around the shoulders immediately and carefully guided him into the house. "Careful, man..." He got Nick sat down on the stairsteps, to which the Grimm immediately put his head in his hands. "Deep breaths... I'll get you something, just stay here," Monroe murmured, quickly shutting the front door and high-tailing it into his kitchen.

He swiped a bottle of spring water from his fridge, unscrewing the cap before taking it to Nick. "Here, sip at this for a minute until I can get you something else," he advised, rousing Nick enough so the Grimm took a drink. Afterwards, Monroe left him again to go back to the kitchen, quickly snagging a mug from the cupboard and the kettle from the stove. He poured the water in, kicked the heat in the burner up as he sat the kettle on it. He then snagged his glass bottle of ginger root and pulled out a root, tossing it down on the cutting board before quickly slicing up some of the root, tossing the excess back in the jar. He pushed the pieces of ginger into a teaball, setting that aside to only return to the heated kettle. He poured the water into the mug, dumping the extra out, before dropping the teaball into the mug. He placed a saucer over the top before walking back to the stairs.

The Grimm was back in the position from before, but some of the water was gone, so Monroe didn't say anything. He brushed past him up the stairs, ducking into his bedroom long enough to grab the throw off his bed. He was beside Nick within seconds again, draping the blanket over the Grimm's shoulders. Nick raised his head at the touch, and Monroe noted, without saying anything, how Nick's eyes were rimmed with red. They hadn't been when he'd come in.

"Now, tell me what happened," he coaxed, sitting down next to Nick. His irritation, his anger, his exhaustion was nearly all but forgotten as he watched the man next to him, who offered an increasingly weak smile.

"She kicked me out," Nick whispered, blinking afterwards as if he just now understood the full severity of the words.

Monroe kept his eyes on the Grimm with a sense of increasing unhappiness, but his thoughts were gone afar. He had expected this... really, he had. He was almost positive Nick had expected this, too; a very small part of the detective had to have figured out the secrets couldn't last forever. He knew that it would hurt Nick but he didn't expect this reaction: a completely beaten, broken-down Grimm who was running on nothing except autopilot but still trying to smile. And Nick _was_ still trying to smile, but it was wavering, and the Grimm wouldn't hold Monroe's eyes long before he took a clumsy sip of the water.

"Juliette," Monroe clarified.

Nick nodded. "Juliette..." he echoed.

Silence reigned for a moment. Monroe didn't know what to say in a situation like this. He was terrible with emotions, let alone emotions that came with relationships. Still being single was a testament to the fact that he sucked with relationships.

"... Just now?" he asked lamely.

"Just now..." Nick murmured, his fingers tightening around the water bottle. It creaked a protest, one that Nick didn't seem to hear. "I... I was at the trailer... I was just _so _tired, and I fell asleep right on top of the research... I didn't wake up until recently and I went home and... she was waiting and..." He let out a shaking sigh, looking towards the stairwell wall so that Monroe could see his face no longer. "She said... she was tired of all the coming home late and, and the secrets... She said I've been acting suspicious and... wanted to know if I was cheating on her..." His voice trailed off into a weak laugh at the end, something that Monroe suspected was a supressed sob. "I don't know what hurts worse, Monroe, the fact that she broke up with me or the fact that she thought I was cheating on her."

Monroe sat in silence, watching the back of the Grimm's head. He hated stuff like this, not that he was going to complain this time. He couldn't even think about it. But, even then, he didn't know what to do.

"I know... I know why she thinks that, of course. I'm out late, later than I ever was in three years... and I know I've been acting weirder, but that's not my fault. All of this stuff... I'm only trying to do what I'm supposed to and somehow manage to protect her _and_ have a normal life, but I guess that's just not possible." His voice broke and he stopped, taking a deep breath. "Sorry. I don't even... I don't even know why I'm bothering you with this."

"You're fine," Monroe added hastily, quick to try and diminish the Grimm's qualms.

"I could've just went back to the trailer, but... your place is closer and I..."

"She didn't kick you out, did she?" Monroe asked suddenly, wondering why he'd gone and questioned it so quickly after he had said it. It didn't add up, though; Juliette was walking out on him, not the other way around. And they both owned the house, as far as Monroe knew, so something didn't add up.

"... No." Nick sniffed, rubbing at his nose. "She... she had her stuff packed and said she'd go, but I told her just to stay there until morning... I have other places I can go... she doesn't." He suddenly turned, looking at Monroe with pleading eyes, something that told Monroe the Grimm was searching for something that had said he'd done the right thing. "I can't make her go, Monroe. She's the one stable thing I've had... for _three_ years. And it's my- my fault it's come to this. If she wants the house, I'll never step foot in it again. If she wants me out of Portland, I'll leave." He stopped, pausing, rubbing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Even now... whatever she wants. I'll do whatever she wants me to."

"Oh, Nick..." he muttered, torn between comforting him or just sitting by. In the end, he kept his hands to himself and excused himself back to the kitchen to grab Nick's tea. It had steeped long enough, long enough for the circumstances. He pulled the teaball out, dropping into the sink. He grabbed the honey, squeezing some into the tea before stirring. He then took it back to Nick, persuading the Grimm to at least try it, because it would calm him down.

They sat in silence for the longest time then; Monroe could feel his exhaustion working his way back into his body now that the worst had passed. It was all he could do not to yawn, the last thing he wanted to do was leave Nick in a state like this, but, eventually, his body won out and all he could do was cover his mouth to stifle the signal of sleepiness.

"I'm sorry... it's late," Nick muttered, noticing immediately like the detective he was and making to stand. He slumped sideways against the wall when he was on his feet, and even from the distance, Monroe could see the small tremors moving through the detective's body.

"Nick..." he murmured quietly, only to be cut off.

"I'm fine. I'll head off to the trailer now."

"Nick," he said louder, standing as well. "You're too exhausted to be driving. Just stay here for the night."

"I couldn't..."

"I insist."

They looked at one another for a moment before the fight went out of Nick again. He curled his fingers around Monroe's throw and pulled it tighter, scrunching into the worn fabric. "Thanks..."

"Don't worry about it..." he muttered, knowing, for the first time, he wouldn't say the Grimm owed him for this.

* * *

><p><strong>You're all disappointed, right? You thought it was going to be interesting and it's just another breakup fic; that's what you're thinking, right? Yeah, well... If you're unhappy, I'm sorry. I rather like it.<strong>

**Maybe I took Nick's emotions too far, but I feel like he'd be totally crushed when/if Juliette left him. That's just my take on it.**

**I'd love to keep hearing your thoughts- and to all those people who alert'd it but didn't review... Here's your cue. (Hint hint. Haha.)**


	3. The Respite

**Chapter Two**

Monroe woke up way too early and way too tired, but reluctantly hauled himself out of bed and trudged into the bathroom to begin his morning routine. Only after he'd dismissed his morning breath did he wander downstairs, rubbing his forehead against the budding headache he was fighting. He'd get around to chewing on some burdock root soon, or the pain would be the death of him later.

He nipped past the living room, stopping to check on the Grimm passed out on the couch. Nick was still asleep, looking remarkably peaceful considering the night he had had. He was curled up, facing the fireplace, an arm draped off the couch while the other was semi-wrapped around his head. The blanket was half on the floor.

Monroe sighed quietly, inching to the couch and peeling the blanket away from the floor. Maybe Nick hadn't had such a good night, after all. He straightened up to drape the blanket back over the detective to find those curiously colourful eyes staring up at him, laced with confusion and morning sleep.

Monroe took a step back. "You looked cold."

"'m not," Nick mumbled, untangling his limbs and stretching awkwardly.

"Alright," Monroe replied, letting the blanket slip to the floor again. He looked at Nick again before shaking his head, making for the kitchen. "Feeling better?" he asked on his way.

"Yeah... I guess," he heard Nick respond before he had crossed into the kitchen.

"You want breakfast?" he called, throwing some coffee grounds into the filter and adding water to the pot before switching it on. "I can make omelettes or something."

"That sounds great," Nick replied honestly, voice closer as he walked into the kitchen.

"Okie doke. What kind?"

"Whatever you're good at."

"Um, okay. Surprise you. Right."

He caught Nick smiling at him, though leaning back against the doorframe as if it were the only thing that would keep him standing, before the detective's face vanished into his hands as he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"The shower's at the top of the stairs... if you want," Monroe added lamely, pulling out the necessary cooking equipment for omelettes.

Nick sighed heavily, dropping his hands. "Yeah. I'll take the opportunity while it's here," he murmured before vanishing again. Monroe watched him go with a sigh before continuing to make breakfast.

A part of Monroe hoped that Nick wasn't going to take up that vow that he'd spewed last night, about doing whatever Juliette wanted him to do. Monroe hadn't even met the girl, but if she was with Nick and Nick was with her, they had to have similar views and personalities, he reasoned. So, if Nick was being... lenient, wouldn't his girlfriend feel the need to be lenient, too? And if that was the case, they wouldn't get anywhere! And getting nowhere would only be worse for both of them, the way he saw it...

Grumbling over the gentle sizzling of the eggs, Monroe popped the top off of one of his jars of burdock root, slicing a clean piece off. He nibbled on it absently as he manuevered the omelette, adding the various ingredients he saw fit. Well, if Nick took nothing else out of this visit, it would be a good breakfast. He needed the nights rest and the hot shower and a filling breakfast, even moreso than Monroe needed the burdock root right now.

It did strike him as a little humourous, though, when he thought about it. He was willingly letting a Grimm spend the night, willing cooking him breakfast, willingly letting him use his shower while he was mulling about the kitchen. He was supposed to be doing his Pilates right now- he was going to get off schedule, wouldn't be able to get into the shower until about eight-thirty- but instead was worrying about what Nick would want on his eggs. It was a strange feeling, but Monroe was beginning to realize just how much he relied on a _Grimm_ to make his daily life normal. That was... almost perpetually frightening if he looked at it that way. But then, doing a one-eighty, he didn't care if that was weird. He'd always been weird.

He flipped the omelette onto a plate, ignoring how his stomach was protesting that all he had been chewing was burdock root. He grabbed a fork and tore into it, not to wait on Nick because he didn't know how long of showers the detective took, burning his mouth. Irregardless, it tasted as good as ever and now all he needed was that cup of Columbian pressed coffee and some crispy bacon- it was veggie bacon, yes, but he refused to call it facon- and his morning wouldn't be totally off-kilter. God, he loved his cooking. Call him a hypocrite.

After making himself just what he wanted, he was alerted to Nick's shower ending by the abrupt silencing of the water rushing above him. He stood, dropping the damp morning paper onto the table with a rustle and grabbed a piece of bacon to put in his mouth before he headed back to the kitchen. Time to make Nick's omelette.

When Nick came down, redressed in slightly rumpled clothes and his hair a wild disarray from towel drying, Monroe was just sliding the omelette off onto a plate.

"Bacon or no bacon?"

"Bacon. By the way, I used-"

"Coffee or orange juice?"

"Oh, coffee. I used your towel. I didn't know where the others were."

Monroe nodded- he'd have to bleach that towel lest he'd end up smelling like a Grimm for a few weeks on end. It was bad enough that Nick's scent had oozed all over his house now, lingering in his bedroom even though the detective hadn't stepped foot in there since they searched his house so long ago. It didn't smell bad, but it did get a little unsettling and it wasn't like Monroe had had nightmares about Grimms lopping off his head _before_ he had met Nick.

"Breakfast," Monroe declared, sitting the plate down on the table in the dining nook, sinking back into his chair. He snatched another one of his pieces of bacon- it was getting cold- quickly munching on it as he went back to the morning paper. This all made him feel so anxious, not being able to just get up and _go_ do what his routine required, but he didn't want to leave Nick blundering around his house while he ignored him. However, he usually didn't sit down to read the paper until _after_ his morning shower.

"I shouldn't be surprised that you're a good cook."

"Hm?" Monroe glanced over the newspaper, raising his eyebrows. "Why's that?"

"Because you have a lot of time to yourself to perfect it?"

He mulled that over for a moment before nodding in acceptance. "That's about right. I'm guessing you don't cook much?"

Nick shook his head. "Juliette did most of it..."

"Ah." Monroe didn't let him go on. Nick did not need to dwell on that. If it was one thing Monroe had learned, he had learned not to dwell. Because dwelling totally tore you up inside to a point where you couldn't even recognize yourself. "I could, uh, teach you some basic recipes or something, if you want." He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he didn't want Nick to be thinking about Juliette. Even if he, inevitably, would have to in the end.

"Um... Yeah, sure. Why not? I guess when I have some free time... not on a case or something..."

"Of course."

Silence fell upon the kitchen. Monroe resisted a yawn and sipped at his coffee, while the only noise that came from Nick was the tap of silverware against the glassware. Monroe didn't mind it, really. He had always enjoyed the silence after his wild life had ended, and, despite the reason, to not have Nick chattering away about death and destruction and danger was a nice change. It was peaceful. For once in his life, he was completely and utterly content with the way things had worked out.

Of course, he hadn't wanted Nick to get crushed by a broken heart, but he'd think about that later.

He made to speak exactly when Nick did, their sentences intermingling to form something like jibberish. They both laughed.

"Well, I'll let you do whatever it is you plan on doing," Nick said, standing and walking his dishes to the sink. "I really have to get back home... sooner or later."

"If you're sure... I mean, feel free to stay if you want, I'm just gonna do Pilates and grab my shower-"

"No, it's okay. Thanks, though."

"Yeah... No, no problem."

He walked the Grimm to the door, raising his eyebrows slightly as Nick walked out on his porch. A silent question. What would he do now?

Nick caught the look and shrugged slightly; whether or not he actually understood the meaning of what Monroe was trying to convey was another whole thing entirely. Anyway that Monroe looked at it, however, Nick was clueless on a lot of things right now. But, at least, it wasn't three in the morning. You couldn't think at all when you were confused _and_ sleepy.

* * *

><p><strong>I tell you, this story makes me tired. On a side note, I feel like those two are super cute in this chapter. If only something like this would happen in the show.<strong>

**Please review... there's one chapter left and I want to know you want it! :)**


	4. The Rejuvenation

**Chapter Three**

Monroe spent the day away and had puttered around the house later that night, continuously watching the snatches of sunset he could see through the window as he had walked past. He had been working on a clock, finishing it, actually. One of his mechanicals from the bedroom had all, of a sudden, slowed down two days ago; he heard it late at night when the ticking of the hands didn't seem so constant. He'd found out that night that the clock needed to be oiled again, and he chided himself for forgetting the task that he had to perform every two years. He'd had this clock for a long time now. He didn't want it to wear out prematurely.

Now, he had gotten everything put back in its proper place, including the clock on the wall. There had been this empty space on the wall for the past two days and it had driven him to the point where he couldn't sleep. He liked routines. He liked things where they should be. He didn't like change.

At the moment present moment, he was sprawled out on the bed, attention directed towards the small television in his room. It was just past nine-thirty at night, and he was all but ready to fall asleep over reruns of _The Brady Bunch_. The gentle ticking of the clock that had been absent for two days was lulling him to sleep faster than he would have liked, but he wasn't complaining.

It was somewhere in between getting lost in nearly unheard dialogue and the calming ticking of the clock that Monroe felt himself dozing.

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock._

_Tick. Tock..._

The ringing of his phone brutally ripped away that serene moment.

Monroe jumped, groaned, and swore all within five seconds of each other, hauling himself out of bed as he crossed the hardwood floor. He scooped his recently discarded jeans off the floor, drew his phone out, and all but stormed the three feet back to his bed.

"What?" he barked as he accepted the call, pressing the phone to his ear. His greeting came out harsher than he had expected, gruffer than he could have wanted, but who else would be calling him this late at night?

"Monroe! I have great news!"

He groaned again, burying his face into his pillow to stifle it. He was a very dedicated person. He was dedicated to routines, and just as much, he was dedicated to sleep. Even though it was still his own fault that he was awake at this time, he liked to be in bed no later than eight-thirty and have the television off by eight-forty-five. And even though it was his own fault that he was still awake at this time of night, Nick had no right, absolutely _no _right, to call this late, acting all happy-go-fucking-lucky because of-

Wait.

When had Nick been happy go lucky? He hadn't been happy at all when he'd left his house. Monroe had seriously been concerned for the Grimm's mental state when he'd left his house earlier this morning.

"What happened?"

He was voicing the same question from the night before, but there was no dead-tired Nick at his doorway, smelling of depression and exhaustion; there was no ginger tea or water bottles or warm blankets or waking up to find the Grimm half passed out on his couch. There wasn't sadness, only an eagerness that spoke of cheerful things. There wasn't anything that related the occurrence to last night except the question itself.

"Juliette! She, I mean _we_- we made up!"

Nick was that little naïve Grimm again. He trusted too easily and he believed too quickly. Give him a break-up, he would break down. Give him a make-up and he would fall back into his little happy routine as if nothing had ever happened. It wasn't really... good.

"You did?"

"She said something about overexaggerating and how she was sorry, and..." There was some static; Monroe believed it was Nick's happy little sigh. "I'm just glad things are alright again."

"Yeah... That's great." He tried to put a bit more feeling into his words, and must have managed, because Nick didn't demand to know what was wrong.

The whole idea didn't sit well with Monroe. Awhile ago now, Nick had told him how his Aunt had said breaking up with Juliette would be beneficial to them both. And Monroe had immediately agreed with Nick's Aunt, surprisingly enough. A relationship between a Wesen and a Grimm was taboo, but heard of. A relationship between a Grimm and a human was taboo and _un_heard of. It wouldn't end well. Monroe knew it _couldn't_ end well.

"Life is so complicated, Monroe," Nick muttered suddenly, but it was with that air of exuberance that someone has when they have just gotten something that they want. And, perhaps, he sounded just the slightest bit wondering.

"Life likes to try and... trip us up," Monroe replied carefully, picking his words before he said them out loud. He was desperate to get the warning across, to say that what Nick was doing _now _was for the worse.

But, who was he to say? Shouldn't he just have been happy that Nick had gotten back together with his girlfriend? That's what friends did, right; supported each other no matter how stupid the choice was.

Monroe was sadly uneducated in friendship.

"That it does. But anyway, I figured I should tell you since you were so good to me last night... I wanted to say thanks again."

Monroe sighed wearily, rubbing his eyes. "Oh yeah, it's fine. But when something else goes wrong, I don't want you on my doorstep at three in the morning again, alright? At least wait until six!"

Nick laughed lightly, and Monroe could almost hear that the Grimm had already forgotten about the mental pain that he had gone through the night before. "It won't happen again."

Where Monroe was uneducated in friendship, Nick was uneducated in the ways of life.

"But if it does..."

"Then I'll wait until six a.m. before I knock on your door, Monroe. I got it. I wouldn't want to disturb your beauty sleep again," Nick joked.

Monroe grimaced, and not because of Nick's beauty sleep joke.

The Grimm just didn't get it. He just didn't...

Monroe opened his mouth to say something before he snapped it shut again. No. This was not his business. He did not have a say in this. He just had to keep his opinions to himself.

"Good," he replied instead, half unaware of the word spewing from his mouth in a lame attempt to roll with the humour.

There was silence, then, for a stretch of time, tense for Monroe, blissful for Nick.

Monroe was the one who broke it. "So, are you going to tell her...?"

"Hm?"

"Well, if you're staying with her-" _even though you and I both know that you shouldn't _"-I can only assume you plan on telling her the truth... if you think she can handle it. Or believe it. Or both."

"She doesn't need to know... Well, not right now. We just made up; I don't want to go spewing this Grimm stuff while she's still a little sore."

_That's precisely why you should. That way, she has the worst all at once_, Monroe thought to himself, but, as he was practicing this term of so-called friendship, he didn't say it. "So, soon?"

"Yeah. When the time's right, I'll just be able to- Oh, gotta go. Thanks again, Monroe. I'll talk to you soon."

What Monroe got through the sudden end of the phone was, one, _talk to you soon_ probably meant _I'll stop by your house tomorrow without invitation_, and, two, _When the time's right_ probably meant _The time will never be right_.

Monroe sighed and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes wearily. He was worrying about Nick's affairs more than Nick was worrying about them. It wasn't fair... It just wasn't fair.

He placed his phone on the top of the headboard and switched the television off before settling himself into the blankets. It was Nick's life. Nick could be the only one to run it. Monroe would only keep his mouth shut and go along for the ride.

But, for now, his only immediate plan was to catch some sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>There wasn't much left to say in this chapter, namely because the only form of communication came through a phone call. But I hoped you liked it nonetheless. Thanks again for all of those who joined me for the ride of <span>Sleepy<span> and I hope you enjoyed it. The one thing I have to ask is, if you put this story on alert or favourites, please take the time to now review it, even if it's one word that describes your feelings on this story. Thank you.**


End file.
